


Clip Your Thin Wings

by mothmerchant



Series: A Moth to His Flame [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (It's pretty vague but it's there), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Magic, An entirely inconsistent pov, An overuse of ellipses for dramatic effect, Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Canon Typical Jon being a bit of an asshole, Canon-Typical Jon Paranoia, Fae & Fairies, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I know these tags aren't organized shhh, I'm autistic and I get to make the fae character autistic if I want to, Jon is a Divinator, Jon's been cursed to be a moth pixie, M/M, Martin is an Apothecary, Martin is an absolute sweetheart, Moth Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, No beta we kayak like Tim, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Probably full of errors, Slow Burn, Tim and Sasha are in a qpr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:20:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothmerchant/pseuds/mothmerchant
Summary: "So," Martin takes a sip from his mug, the same sunflower one from the night before. "You're a human, then?"Jon nods. "Once. It's... Complicated." Jon grabs his thimble and takes a sip. Chamomile.Better than pepperminthe thinks, but still not his favorite."It's a curse. Pretty bad one, too." He sets the thimble down. "Not painful, necessarily, not like lots of curses. But... Inconvenient. And it doesn't seem to be leaving me anytime soon.""I could help you." Martin offers, and when Jon looks up at him, he seems just as surprised by the offer as Jon does."I mean, well... I'm an apothecary. I could try to heal you, if you'd let me." Martin explains, staring down at his tea._________Jon is the victim of an odd curse, and the kind apothecary who saved his life offers to heal him and let him stay in his cottage. How could Jon possibly say no?
Relationships: Background Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner - Relationship, Background Georgie Barker/Melanie King - Relationship, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Series: A Moth to His Flame [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2176188
Comments: 53
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon finds a cottage in the woods, and a kind stranger helps him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings:  
> \- Mentions of death

He should've stayed in the village.

Jon knew this. He tried to rationalize it, insisting that he couldn't risk being seen and that even late in the evening, the village was bustling with life and was far too busy for him to stay. But he knew this wasn't why he chose to head into the woods.

He couldn't ignore the feeling in his chest, tugging at him and guiding him, insisting that he had to go through the woods. That there was something there for him. The tugging became an insistent pulling, until his journey through the woods was no longer an active choice, but rather instinct.

 _That damn pulling is what got you in this situation in the first place._ He reminds himself. But he keeps moving. He had to find whatever was there for him. 

The tugging was an almost agonizing loss of control for him. Jon liked to think of himself as rational, as someone who could keep himself under control. But that tugging feeling pulled all that control away from him. His own curiosity, that incessant need to know what was calling for him, it always got the better of him. And it rarely worked in his favor. _You think you'd have learned after last time._ He berates himself, yet he keeps moving. But he has bigger problems now.

Now, the tugging feeling was barely there, drowned out by panic as rain came down in sheets and tried to force him to the ground.

Jon had never liked the rain, not really. He found the way his clothes clung to his skin to be horribly unpleasant, and it made it nearly impossible for him to focus until he was dry again. 

It was different now. The rain wasn't just unpleasant anymore, it was dangerous. It felt ridiculous to think such a thing, but Jon knew it to be true. Each drop to hit his wings was painful, sending a shock of cold to his core. He had yet to get used to them, to flying rather than walking, to being so small that covering any ground felt like it took ages. And he certainly wasn't used to just how dangerous the world was in his new form. What had once been a minor inconvenience now terrified him.

Between the rain and the autumn air, it was a cold night. Enough that were he still human, he was certain he'd end up with a nasty cold the next morning. Now, a cold is the least of his worries. 

He's exhausted. Every flap of his wings is pained, and the water falling on them is making it nearly impossible to stay in the air. He didn't know where to go, only that he needed to find whatever he was being pulled toward. He knew it was foolish, to still move towards whatever was calling him when it had already put him in danger. But where else could he possibly go? He didn't have much choice in the matter. He pushed forward, ignoring the pain in favor of the satisfaction he knew he would feel once he got answers, even if the exhaustion and biting cold killed him afterwards.

He was certain he saw something. A vague shape. Something... glowing. 

_A light._

Ignoring the sharp pains flowing through him and the coldness seeping into his bones, Jon moved towards the light as quickly as he could. For a brief moment, the phrase _a moth to a flame_ comes to mind, and he can only laugh to himself. There's no humor to it, the sound almost as cold as the night air, but it escapes him anyway.

It's only as Jon finally reaches the source of the light that he realizes that he's outside a cottage. He looks up to the light, an old lantern, hanging next to the door. He finds a small potted plant sitting outside the door, just below an awning, and curls up underneath a leaf. 

The cold isn't leaving him, and he's soaked to the bone. A voice in his head insists that he needs to stay awake, that if he sleeps he may not wake up, but the exhaustion from his journey to the cottage wins over. It's as he feels himself falling off of the edge of consciousness into sleep that he realizes the tugging has finally stopped. Whatever he was supposed to find, it was here, and he could only hope to wake up again to discover it tomorrow.

__________________ 

The first thing Jon notices as he returns to consciousness is just how warm he is. He's vaguely aware that his hair and wings are still damp, but in comparison to the cold he had fallen asleep to, he couldn't ignore just how warm he felt.

The next thing he noticed was a voice. Someone mumbling anxiously, though Jon wasn't really taking in the words. He thinks he hears the voice say "Please be okay." but he can't be sure.

It's as Jon starts to actually make an effort to take in the voice that he begins to panic, because he should _not_ be where anyone can see him, much less talking to him. The panic is enough to fully bring Jon back to consciousness. 

Jon tries to bolt upright and get a look at his surroundings, to try to get away from stranger who _definitely_ shouldn't be seeing him right now, but just turning his head too quickly makes his head spin. 

"Oh thank goodness, you're okay!"

Jon looks to the source of the voice. The man is looking at him, a soft yet nervous smile across his face. His cheeks are round, dusted with freckles and a slight blush. Jon notes that his hair is an almost unnaturally bright red, and yet it doesn't look dyed. The curls are messy, yet oddly fitting on the man. He adjusts his glasses, round and golden frames with lenses so thick they're visibly protruding from the gold holding them in place. Behind the lenses are bright blue eyes that Jon can only think to describe as gentle. There's something welcoming about them.

"Oh! Hold on," The man says. "Just one moment." He adds, then walks over to a stove and begins fumbling with a kettle. It's only now that Jon notices he's sat on a kitchen table. 

Jon wants to panic, to worry what this man could possibly want from him, but he can't find it in him to think about it too hard. He tries to blame the exhaustion, but he can't deny that wherever he is, and whoever that man is, he feels safer here than he had outside.

The man returns to the table, taking a seat across from Jon. He sets a mug down, bright yellow and covered in sunflowers. Then, he pushes a thimble across the table, over to Jon.

Jon carefully picks up the thimble with two of his hands, looking at it quizzically. It's full of a pale amber liquid, and Jon's brain starts firing off in a panic once again. It could be poison. Or worse.

Jon shook his head. He was being irrational.

Besides, the man didn't _seem_ dangerous. After all, if he had wanted to hurt Jon, surely he would've done it while he was still asleep. 

Slowly, Jon takes a sip from the thimble. _Peppermint tea._ He had never been the biggest fan of peppermint tea, but the warmth of it was enough to distract him from his usual distaste. Optimism wasn't his strong suit, but it was hard to think negatively when not long ago he had been at risk of freezing to death, and now he was in a warm house with tea and not a drop of rain in sight.

The man takes a sip from his own mug, keeping a close eye on Jon. Nervousness was radiating off of him in waves, enough that his gaze was starting to make Jon feel anxious as well. Jon quickly downs the rest of his tea and holds the thimble out to the man.

"Thank you for the tea, um..." Jon trails off, realizing he didn't know _who_ to thank without the strangers name.

"Oh!" The man grabs the thimble, seeming to catch on. "Uh, M-Martin. Martin Blackwood. And you are?" 

"Jonathan Sims. Er, Jon." Jon holds out one of his hands reflexively, before remembering it's far too small to shake, and retracts it.

If Martin noticed this, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he tilts his head in slight confusion. "Jon? That's, uh... Not really what I expected from a pixie." Suddenly, Martin's face heats up. "Sorry! Is that rude? I mean, I don't actually know all that much about pixies but it just... I dunno, I suppose I didn't really think they had human names? Oh gosh, sorry, that's probably rude too-" Martin rambles on, apologizing a few more times before Jon can properly cut him off.

"No no, you're uh... You're actually right. About it not being a pixie name, that is." Jon suddenly feels very nervous. He hasn't actually had to explain this to anyone yet. "I'm a human." He says, fully aware of how ridiculous it must sound coming from a ten centimeter tall creature with moth wings.

"Oh. Okay." Martin says, and Jon just stares at him.

"You... believe me?" Jon asks. Martin surely knows that pixies love playing tricks on people, and without any proof, why would anyone assume Jon was any different from a common pixie? Surely it couldn't be that easy. Surely Martin would demand an explanation for how this supposed human had wound up with green wings and fluffy pale yellow antenna, and was small enough to fit in the palm of a hand. 

But Martin just nods, giving Jon a smile that somehow reassures him that he really does believe him. "I can't really explain why but... Yeah, I believe you. There's something about you. You just sort of... Seem human? Does that make any sense?" 

Jon nods. The two sit in in relative silence for a moment, before Jon looks back up at Martin, tilting his head in curiosity.

"What exactly happened to me?" He asks. He remembers the cold, and seeing a light, and that obnoxious tugging, but everything else was a bit of a blur.

"Oh, yes, um. I was going to get my plant from outside, didn't want it getting overwatered from the rain, y'know? So I brought it and you were just... there. You looked so cold." Martin looks almost sad. "I couldn't just put you back outside, so I put you in here because it's the warmest room in the house, and so I could keep an eye on you while I made tea." Martin fiddles with his mug awkwardly. "You were out for a long time, I was really worried. But... You're okay?" It comes out as more of a question than Martin intends it to.

"Ah, yes, I'm okay. Thank you." Jon finally stands, stretching all of his arms in different directions and flapping his wings slowly. He notes that they're a paler green than usual, much of the usual shimmering dust having been washed away by the rain. "Well, as soon as the rain stops, I'll be out of your hair. I do apologize for intruding. And worrying you." 

"O-oh, it's no trouble at all! Really, it's uh. Nice. To have visitors, that is. Even if you aren't exactly my usual company." Martin chuckles to himself. "If anything, you're far better behaved than they are."

Jon laughs quietly. "Is nearly dying on your doorstep what you consider well behaved?"

Martin laughs. "Honestly? It's not the worst experience I've had from a house guest." Jon opts not to ask what _was_ the worst experience. It's not his place, and he still isn't sure he's should be trusting Martin, as kind as he may seem.

"Well, I don't think the rain is stopping anytime soon." Martin glances out the window, the thin glass covered in constantly flowing droplets. "You're welcome to stay here until the rain stops. I could set up a place for you to sleep. Only if you'd like, of course."

Jon considers the offer. He doesn't know where else he could possibly go, and the prospect of going back outside sends a shiver through him.

"Alright. Thank you." 

Martin holds his hand out to Jon, palm facing upwards. Jon hesitantly steps onto his palm, earning a small chuckle from Martin.

"S-sorry, it's just," Martin tries to get out between laughter. "You're all fuzzy, it tickles." 

Jon isn't sure why his face heats up. Martin only stated a blatant fact, he was covered in a very thin fuzz. But something about being treated like a small pet, like he was an animal and not a grown man, made him feel... off.

Martin takes him to what appears to be a small living room and gently sets him down on a coffee table. Jon watches as Martin quickly shimmies out of the light blue cardigan he's wearing. Jon notes that it looks handmade. Martin quickly folds it and places it on the tabel. "Hopefully that'll do for tonight." He adds.

Jon crawls onto the cardigan, immediately overcome by how soft it is. The thick yarn is almost akin to the fluff around his neck. He tucks himself underneath one of the folds of the cardigan, sighing contentedly. 

"Yes, this will do quite nicely. Thank you." Jon says, eyes already shut and sleep beckoning him.

"Of course. Well, goodnight." Martin seems to linger for a moment, then finally moves, trying to leave the room as quietly as possible. Jon is vaguely aware of a small clicking sound that he deduces must be a light switch.

Tomorrow, Jon would have to figure where he's going to go, and what he's going to do about his current form. He'll have to leave this warm cottage, and the man who he really wanted to not trust. He'll have to hide again, never letting himself be seen. He'll miss the conversations, he thinks. It was nice, being able to talk to someone for the first time in... how long had he been like this? Surely he should know that sort of thing.

He'll worry about that tomorrow.

Tonight, he was safe in this cottage, and he would savor the warmth and the safety the best he could.

Tonight, he would let himself rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, I have big plans for this fic. Let's hope I keep at it long enough to reach them!
> 
> Comments are always appreciated and I try to reply to all of them. Very long comments will earn my eternal gratitude.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin makes Jon an offer, and Jon gets acquainted with the cottage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings for this chapter. Lemme know if I need to add any!

It's the light, in the end, that wakes Jon up.

The warm rays of sunshine glowing through the cottages sheer curtains and hitting the coffee table where Jon lay were a pleasant enough alarm, he supposed. If he wanted to, he could block it out, burrow into Martin's cardigan and pretend the sun wasn't demanding he get up already. But he doesn't.

Still, it's a struggle to actually leave the warmth of his "bed". The cottage isn't cold, far from it in fact, but the warmth of the cardigan is unlike any warmth he has ever know. It was like a perfect hug, he imagined, though he can't remember the last time he had been hugged well enough to actually consider that an accurate comparison.

As proper consciousness creeps up on him, he tries to push away the romanticizing of having slept bundled in a strangers cardigan. Yes, perhaps it had been the warmest Jon had been in quite some time. And yes, the fabric was incredibly soft, so much so that Jon never wanted to leave it. And yes, it smelled faintly of lavender and peppermint and something else he couldn't pinpoint, which had only lulled Jon into an even deeper sleep.

And yes, perhaps last night had been the best sleep Jon had gotten in many, _many_ years.

But he couldn't afford to dwell on that. He'd be leaving today and it would do him no good to linger on just how badly he wanted to sleep like that every night.

Jon crawls out of his metaphorical cocoon and stretches each of his limbs in different directions. He notes that his joints don't pop like they did when he was human, then remembers that he doesn't even have bones. He supposes that would explain it.

He gives his wings a few experimental flaps before taking a running jump off the table and begins to fly. He still couldn't take off without jumping off something, but he was staring to get the hang of flying. 

He flutters into the kitchen, where he sees Martin preparing pancakes. He lands on the kitchen table, stumbling a bit. He hasn't quite nailed the landings yet either, but he's come a long way from his crash landings from his first few days in this form.

Martin turns to greet him, smiling. "Morning. Sleep well?"

 _Better than I ever have._ He thinks.

"Yes." He responds instead.

Martin's already wide smile grows impossibly wider. "That's great!" He goes back to making breakfast. 

Jon just watches him, not sure what else to do. It isn't an awkward feeling exactly, just... off. Like this situation was far too domestic to be between two strangers. But something about it is still nice. This whole cottage is nice. So much nicer than the world beyond it. This small kitchen and constant warmth and sheer curtains and kind stranger are all so _nice_ and Jon tries not to think about the fact that he'll be leaving soon

Jon shakes himself out of this train of thought. He really shouldn't be here to begin with, and he certainly shouldn't be so trusting of this stranger. 

The problem was, Martin was just so easy to trust. Something about him was felt... safe. And Jon truly couldn't think of any reason not to trust him. If anything, he had already proven himself trustworthy in the short time Jon had known him. But, well, Jon is exceptionally skilled in being paranoid, and he doesn't exactly need a reason to not trust someone other than feeling like he shouldn't. He just wishes he didn't feel so naturally inclined to trust Martin. 

Martin seems to have finished making breakfast, as he slides another thimble full of tea over to Jon and begins to stack pancakes onto a plate. Then, Martin places a napkin on the table, and on top that, a stack of marginally smaller pancakes. 

"There you go! I do hope you like pancakes, I wasn't really sure what else to make." Martin takes a seat across from him.

Jon just walks over to the napkin. He hadn't actually expected Martin to make him breakfast, though in retrospect he had no clue why. This man had been nothing but hospitable thus far, it only makes sense that he would make breakfast for Jon too.

Jon takes a seat on the napkin as if it were a picnic blanket and grabs a pancake, nibbling on it slowly. He never really liked eating in front of people, but he supposed that was far from the oddest thing about this situation. The two eat in relative silence for a moment, until Martin breaks it.

"So, heading off this morning, then?" He asks.

Jon nods. "Suppose so." He takes another bite from a pancake. "Not sure where I'll go but I'm sure I'll figure something out."

Martin gives him an odd look, something between consideration and concern. "If you say so."

Then his face changes, like there's something he wants to say, but he isn't sure how exactly to put it. This doesn't seem to stop him from pushing on anyway.

"So," Martin takes a sip from his mug, the same sunflower one from the night before. "You're a human, then?"

Jon nods. "Once. It's... Complicated." Jon grabs his thimble and takes a sip. Chamomile. _Better than peppermint_ he thinks, but still not his favorite.

"It's a curse. Pretty bad one, too." He sets the thimble down. "Not painful, necessarily, not like lots of curses. But... Inconvenient. And it doesn't seem to be leaving me anytime soon."

"I could help you." Martin offers, and when Jon looks up at him, he seems just as surprised by the offer as Jon does.

"I mean, well... I'm an apothecary. I could try to heal you, if you'd let me." Martin explains, staring down at his tea.

"Oh." Jon says simply. "I... I appreciate that but really, it's not necessary."

Martin almost jumps up. "No no, really, I'd love to help! Uh, in fact," Martin suddenly recedes. "I was thinking maybe you could stay here while I try to heal you? I mean, you said you don't know where to go and I'd be happy to help on that front too."

Jon isn't sure how to respond. He's not used to such open kindness. He's never been good at accepting help, and far worse at knowing how to respond to it when offered, so he just nods and lets out a small "Thank you." He hopes Martin understands that's his way of accepting the offer.

Martin must understand, because he's smiling again. "I'll do my best. And I do hope you'll like it here."

 _I already do._ Jon thinks.

"Yes, well, it's better than out there." He replies instead.

"Yes, I s'pose it is." Martin finishes off his last pancake. "Right, well. If I'm going to be healing you, I have a few errands to run." He carries his dishes to the sink, then takes the thimble from Jon and sets it gently into the sink, with a small ceramic _clink_ making Jon think he perhaps placed it inside his own mug so he doesn't lose it.

Jon hears Martin mumble to himself. "I'll worry about all that later." Then he turns back to Jon.

"You'll be alright while I'm gone?" Martin asks. Jon rolls his eyes.

"Yes, I'll be fine. I am an adult, you know. I don't need you babysitting me." Jon doesn't mean to be harsh, but he can't help but assume Martin is condescending him. He _probably_ isn't, Jon knows this, but it's close enough to make him feel irritated.

"Ah. Right, I know, I just..." Martin gulps nervously. "Right. I'll be back soon then." And then he grabs a brown bag and throws it over his shoulder before quickly scrambling down the stairs and out of the cottage.

Jon sighs. A part of him is already regretting agreeing to stay here. But, he supposes, if he's going to stay, he should at least get acquainted with the place.

The cottage, technically, is not very big. Jon could tell this much from when he had been on the outside of it the night before. But this doesn't change the fact that Jon is very, _very_ small, and he's well aware it's likely going to take him some time to fully explore the whole building.

He starts by flitting around the kitchen. He feels mostly familiar with it already, at least on a surface level. He doesn't feel that familiarity one feels in a kitchen they think of as their own, where they know exactly what is in each drawer and cabinet, exactly what needs restocking in the fridge, the precise location of a certain spice on the spice rack. He laments that he can't find that comfort in this kitchen, as he's too small to open the drawers and cabinets and fridge, and there is no spice rack. Still, it feels almost like a friends kitchen. Like he's just woken up from a sleepover, and while he isn't familiar with the kitchen, he feels oddly comfortable in it. He doesn't _actually_ know that feeling, having never actually gone to a sleepover. But he imagines the feeling must be close, and he tries not to think too hard about feeling such familiarity in a strangers home.

He flutters back into the main room. It's relatively small, yet Jon imagines it's likely the largest room in the house. The curtains are sheer, as Jon had noticed earlier as they so rudely refused to block out the sun and allow him a few more moments of rest. The coffee table, which still housed Martin's cardigan, sits in front of an old couch pushed against a wall. Jon can't help but think it looks horribly uncomfortable. It looks like one of those scratchy ones, with flowers embroidered into it and cushions that always seemed too firm to actually be relaxing, the sort of couch one would expect to find in their grandmother's house. He doesn't find it all too surprising that Martin would have something like that.

On the adjacent wall is a fireplace. There's a stack of wood nearby, hand chopped if Jon were to guess, and he wonders if Martin had chopped it himself. He supposed that would make sense, given the the vast number of trees surrounding his home. And despite his frankly soft demeanor, Jon suspected Martin could probably handle something like chopping wood. Jon, even when he had been human, could do no such thing. Not to a degree that it would actually be all too useful, at least. He could probably get through two or three swings before feeling winded and needing a break.

Parallel to the couch is a vintage television. It's nothing special, but Jon once again finds himself not all toi surprised that Martin owns such a thing. He flutters closer to it, jumping slightly when he catches his own reflection. He supposes he hasn't actually seen himself since the transformation, and it's a bit jarring. He's gotten used to a lot of it, but it's only now he learns that his eyes are solid black and he can see three triangular markings on his chin where his beard has been. He remembers reading somewhere that, for whatever reason, pixies and the alike don't grow facial hair. He decides it's not in his best interest to focus on his appearance for too long.

There were a few bookshelves lining the walls, and for a moment Jon lamented at the sudden realization that he was too small to be able to hold a book. Reading has always been one of his favorite pastimes, even if he was quite picky when setting on something to read. Still, he scans the shelves. 

_The Herbal Alchemists Handbook, Medical Herbalism, The Complete Herbs Sourcebook, The Modern Herbal Dispensatory, The Lost Book of Remedies,_ the collection goes on.

All practical things for an apothecary to own, sure, but nothing that would interest Jon in the slightest. Despite this, he does find himself surprised by just how thorough Martin's collection is. He supposes it makes sense, an apothecary should certainly know what they're doing and have plenty of resources for their work. But somehow he expected someone like Martin to have a significantly smaller library of said resources.

He moves to a small hallway, which can barely be considered a hallway and is more of an alcove with two doors sitting parallel to each other. One of the doors is closed, and Jon doesn't need to try opening it to know he won't be able to in his current state. The other, however, is just barely open, enough that Jon can squeeze through.

The room isn't particularly large. It's warm, both in a literal sense and in an aesthetic one, and it doesn't take long at all for Jon to piece together that this is Martin's bedroom. He knows he shouldn't snoop around, but he finds himself looking around anyway. He won't be too invasive, he decides, he'll only glance around real quick and then leave.

The walls are striped, alternating between an off white and pastel yellow. They're covered in art prints and a few posters, with a few small shelves mounted to them. The shelves seem to house small knickknacks and trinkets that seemed incredibly Martin-esque. _Small ceramic mushrooms, crystals of varying sizes, an old chipped mug with a honeybee on it, a frog figurine, and an entire tea set that seems to have a snail theme._ A golden chain hanging off the edge of one of the shelves grabs his attention, though he's unsure why. It's a simply, dainty necklace chain, though with no pendant.

The bed seems impossibly large to Jon. Even ignoring his current size, Jon can't help but think the bed is just far too large for one person. The blankets look soft and there's an obscene number of pillows, all disorganized as it seems Martin didn't bother to make his bed after waking up this morning. 

There's a bedside table housing a lamp, an antique thing that resembled a lantern. It appears to be brass, with a looping stand from which the lantern hangs from. Close to the base of the lamp is a tea cup and saucer, both covered in gold and yellow designs and small painted-on marigolds. The cup still has the smallest remnants of tea at the bottom. It smells of peppermint and chamomile. 

Near the bottom of the table, pushed partially beneath the bed, is a basket full of yarn in an assortment of colors and a pair of knitting needles. Jon passes a hand over the fibers, and finds that the softness is oddly familiar. Martin must've knit that cardigan. 

There were book shelves in here too, though Jon notes that they're all marginally thinner than the ones in the main room. Upon closer inspection, Jon finds that they're all notebooks, and takes that as a sign not to inspect any closer. Not that he could even if he wanted to, but he doesn't want to pry into Martin's private life.

And it's this thought that jolts him into the realization that he's already prying more than he has any right to, curiosity having gotten the better of him once again and blocking out any rational thoughts on just how inappropriate it is for him to be flitting around in a strangers bedroom. He leaves the small room just as he found it, trying to ignore the way his face is heating up with embarrassment. How had he let himself get carried away like that again? He had to be more careful. Being curious never got him anywhere good.

 _It got me here._ His mind supplies, but he ignores it. His curiosity has gotten him in trouble far more than it has ever been useful.

He opts not to go down into the apothecary shop. He had seen the windows last night, and despite being in the middle of the woods, such wide open windows made him feel all too exposed for his comfort.

Jon perks up as he hears the steps leading down to the shop begin to creak. Was Martin back already? How long had Jon spent snooping around? Or had Martin not been exaggerating when he said he'd be back soon. Regardless, Jon hides on the off chance it _isn't_ Martin.

The door swings open, and Jon hopes his relief isn't _too_ obvious when he sees that it is, in fact, Martin.

"I'm back! And uh," Martin begins rifling through his bag. "I've got a few things that might help. Care to join me?" He motions towards the kitchen. Jon follows, watching Martin closely as he prepares... Something.

He's certain he sees Martin cutting a lemon, and dicing various plants he can't recognize from just seeing them.

 _This would be easier if I still had my magic._ He thinks.

Martin puts the odd mixture of lemon and plants into a pot, then pours water over it. He places the pot onto the stove, then clicks the dial and waits. 

"I don't really know if this will work," Martin admits. "It's a simple healing tea, probably too simple for something like this. But it feels like the right place to start." Jon just nods, taking a seat on the table. Something in Jon knows it won't work. He doesn't _Know_ it, not like he used to be able to. But he doesn't expect it to work.

The mixture begins to audibly bubble and boil, and Martin removes the pot from the burner. He pours the tea into a mug, seemingly waiting for it to cool. The steam swirls and shifts, and Jon briefly tries to read it, before remembering he can't anymore.

Martin carefully transfers a bit of the tea into the thimble. He seems to burn his hand a bit, but doesn't react with much more than a slight hiss. Then, he slides the thimble over to Jon.

Jon takes a sip, and does his best not to grimace. The tea is horribly bitter, with hardly anything redeeming about it.

"Do I have to drink all of this?" He asks. Martin tries to hide his smile. "Unfortunately. If we want even a slight chance of it working, you'll need to drink all of that." Jon frowns. With a deep inhale, he gulps down the rest of the tea as quickly as he can.

"Well?" Martin looks down at him curiously. "Feel any different?" Jon thinks for a moment.

"Not the magical kind of different. Mostly just nauseous." He holds the thimble out for Martin to take, which he does. Martin looks at him with... pity? No, that wasn't quite right. Jon couldn't quite pinpoint the look Martin was giving him, but it didn't fill him with disgust the way pity always did.

Martin let's out a small hum. "Well, that's to be expected." He smiles, all too cheery considering he had just failed to do his job. "We'll try again tomorrow. I mean, we could try again now, but I'd rather give you some time to recover from that tea. I, uh, guess I should warn you but most of these won't taste very good." He laughs a bit. "Want some good tea now? It could help."

Jon nods, and watches Martin being to prepare more tea. And in this moment, he'll take any type of tea Martin makes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some art of moth!Jon and his thimble of tea :]  
> https://mothmerchant.tumblr.com/post/642888787578454016/mods-are-asleep-post-pixie-mothjon-also-pssst  
> Comments are always appreciated. ♡


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin brings home some friends, and Jon finds that maybe he's missed having company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No CWs for this chapter. Let me know if I need to add any :]

Jon was starting to get bored.

It had been a week since he arrived at the small cabin, and he was at an utter loss of ideas of what to do to pass the time. His days were uneventful, usually punctuated only by a failed attempt at healing his curse, of course provided by Martin.

And as for Martin himself, well...

He was busy, much busier than Jon would have initially assumed. Martin was always out on shopping trips for new ingredients, or working down in his shop, or on one occasion drinking with his friends. He had been utterly wrecked by the time he had returned from that particular excursion, and it seemed to Jon that Martin had no actual recollection of the night. Probably for the best he doesn't remember drunkenly stumbling home while he's housing one of his clients. Jon did him the favor of not bringing it up.

But without any company, the option to leave the cottage, or even any books to read, Jon was monumentally bored. His day were starting to mostly consist of sporadic naps, bathing in the warm sunlight that peeked through the windows and washed over him. He'd found himself feeling unusually tired this past week. He chalked it up to his sleep deprivation finally catching up to him, now that he can finally relax.

And relaxed he was, despite the boredom. Martin had been kind enough to let Jon stay in the guest room. Jon tried to argue against it, insisting that he didn't take up nearly enough space to demand an entire room to himself. But Martin insisted. Something about letting Jon have privacy, which he couldn't find it in him to argue against. He had never been social, and suddenly living with someone could certainly drain him, even if Martin was rarely actually around. Just _knowing_ he was sharing a space with someone made him exhausted and more than a bit anxious. So having a room to himself, no matter how comical the visual, was refreshing.

He wasn't sleeping this time, exactly. But he was content to rest where the sunlight hit his comically large bed, bathing in the warmth that washed over him. Martin had promised not to be out for too long so he could get some research in on how he could heal Jon. After a week of barely palatable teas and sludge that Jon was hesitant to even call edible, it was clear this curse needed more than the typical healing spells. 

Jon tried to remain faithful in Martin, to believe he could figure _something_ out, but he wasn't exactly the type to put all of his faith in someone. And besides, Martin was far from the best apothecary Jon had met. He was decent, he supposed, though at the worst of times Jon was hesitant to even call him competent at his job. He seemed horribly disorganized, always losing track of where he stored each herb. And he kept forgetting what each ingredient was for, which was not only unprofessional, but borderline dangerous. Still, these mistakes were rare enough that Jon tried to ignore them. Martin was well intentioned, and quite possibly Jon's only chance to get back to normal. 

Speaking of Martin, he was certain he heard him returning from his trip into the village. Although there seemed to be more commotion that usual. Still, Jon fluttered into the main room.

"I'm just saying, you're not very subtle with this stuff. Maybe you should- Oh." 

Martin had brought home two strangers. And the one who had been speaking was staring at him, his eyes wide. Soon, the other stranger was staring too, though she seemed more entertained than shocked.

Martin hadn't said anything about visitors. Jon supposed he didn't have to, it is his house after all. But still, it seemed that these visitors were just as surprised by Jon as Jon was of them. Probably more so, in all fairness.

"Uh," The first visitor starts, still staring at Jon. "Martin, I think you may have forgotten a key piece of information about your new housemate."

Martin's face heats up. "I was getting to that, I swear."

The other visitor laughs, a light and cheerful laugh that seems to fit her quite well. She seems quite amused by the whole situation, turning to Martin.

"Well Martin? Are you going to introduce us?" She says.

"O-oh! Right, yes," He stutters. "Um, Jon, this is Tim," Martin motions to the man who was still staring at him in awe. "And Sasha." He motions to the woman, who waves at him and gives him a kind smile. "Tim, Sasha, this is my housemate Jon."

"Uh huh. And why is he a moth?" Tim asks. Sasha elbows him in the side, earning a yelp. "Tim! You can't just ask someone why they're a moth!" 

"It's quite alright. I don't mind." Jon finally says, and Tim is staring at him again, now wearing a slowly widening grin.

"Oh, that is _not_ what I expected you to sound like!" Tim laughs heartily. "You're so small and cute but like... Wow, that voice does not fit." Tim looks thoroughly entertained, but Sasha and Martin are both shooting him a similar disapproving glare.

"Don't be rude, Tim." Sasha warns, placing a firm hand on Tim's shoulder.

"Ah, no, it's really not a problem." Jon says. Though he doesn't take kindly to the mocking, Tim isn't wrong. Jon's voice doesn't fit his new form in the slightest.

"I'm not a moth. Just cursed to be one." Jon explains when Tim and Sasha look to him, silently waiting for an answer to Tim's earlier question.

Tim grins. "Well in that case..." He saunters over to Jon. "You're in good hands. Just a few months ago, Marto healed me right up after I was cursed to be a frog."

"Tim!" Martin shouts. "First of all, that was a cold. And second of all, I don't think it's very polite to joke about curses like that."

"No, no, it's quite alright. Although..." Jon holds a hand up to his chin in thought, looking up at Tim. "I don't think you'd be a frog if you were cursed, that's more Martin."

Tim leans in, clearly interested. "Ooh, good point. And what would I be then?"

Jon gives a small, thoughtful hum. "A butterfly."

Tim grins. "Hear that guys? A butterfly." Tim holds his hand to his chest triumphantly.

"An over the top, obnoxious, attention-seeking butterfly." Jon adds. Tim feigns offense, which earns a laugh from Martin. Tim turns to him, trying his best to appear angry.

"What? Like a frog is much better?" He asks, and Martin suddenly stops laughing, unable to think of a rebuttal. Thankfully, Jon has one for him.

"Frogs at least live for upwards of ten years. You however," Jon points at Tim with one of his tiny fingers. "Would only live for around two weeks. At most."

Tim's faux anger melts and he instead leans over to Martin, whispering slightly, but still clearly audible. "Oh, he _is_ smart, ey Martin?" Tim's voice is teasing. "You weren't kidding." He pulls away, putting on a mocking voice that's clearly supposed to be Martin.

"'Oh, my new housemate is really smart, you'll like him. He's quiet though, you might not even notice he's there.' And didn't even mention he's a bloody _moth._ Christ, Martin." Tim chuckles.

"I said I was getting to it! Not exactly the best way to start telling you about him, is it? 'Oh yeah, by the way I have a new housemate and he's a moth' isn't exactly a good way to introduce him." Martin's face is red, so much so that he's practically radiating heat as he tries to defend himself.

"Speak for yourself," Sasha says. "I personally would have loved an introduction like that."

"Right... Well, anyway," Martin gulps and turns to Jon. "Tim and Sasha will be joining us for lunch. If that's alright with you, I mean."

Jon rolls his eyes, though there's no way any of them would be able to tell given his lack of a discernible iris or pupils. "It's your house. You hardly need my permission to have guests over for lunch."

"Ah... suppose you're right." Martin walks into the kitchen, then turns to the rest of them. "You all can go ahead and take a seat at the table. This shouldn't take long." 

Tim, Sasha, and Jon all take a seat. Jon has taken to sitting on a small doily whenever he's at the table, finding the soft lace to be more comfortable than sitting directly on the cold wood of the table. Sasha coos at the sight, but immediately lets out an apology.

"I'm sorry, that's condescending isn't it? I don't want to be like Tim," Tim elbows her. "But I guess it's hard to keep in mind that you _are_ a human and not just a cute little moth."

Jon sighs. "I suppose that makes sense. You wouldn't be the only one who seems to forget that I'm not some helpless animal." He tries not to glare too hard at Martin. Apparently, he fails.

Tim chuckles and lowers his voice to a whisper. "If it makes you feel any better, that's just what Martin's like." Martin glances back at them at the mention of his name, but quickly goes back to preparing lunch. "He's just protective of people he cares about, that's all."

Jon narrows his eyes. That didn't really explain it, given that Martin hardly knew him. Still, it was better than being seen as some precious pet. 

"So!" Sasha starts, clearly wanting to change the subject so Martin wouldn't get too suspicious of them. "We should tell you a bit about ourselves, right?" She leans in slightly, looking ready to speak until Tim pipes up.

"I'll go first!" He shouts. Sasha rolls her eyes playfully.

Tim begins rambling on about his practices with eclectic witchcraft. Jon isn't at all surprised by this. Tim certainly seems like a chaotic type, it's no wonder he wouldn't be able so specialize in one type of magic. Of course, personality doesn't _really_ have anything to do with someones affinity for a certain sort of magic, but still. Tim being capable of many different types of magic seems fitting, if not mildly terrifying.

Then there's Sasha, a green witch. She discusses her specializations in nature magic, growing and identifying plants, and going on long walks to collect plants.

"I, of course, accompany her on these walks." Tim adds, hand on his chest. Sasha chuckles. "Yes, of course, because I need my brave knight to protect me from all the evil mushrooms. What would I possibly do without you?" 

As their laughter dies down, Tim turns to Jon.

"Well, what about you, Jon?" He asks. "What spooky moth powers do you contain?" He wiggles his fingers when he says "spooky".

"Oh, uh. I'm a divinator. _Was_ a divinator, I guess. My powers don't work when I'm like this." Jon answers awkwardly, not used to being put on the spot.

"Wait, really?" Martin looks at him, shocked. "You never told me that!"

"You never asked." Jon replies, perhaps a bit more snippy than necessary. Martin's face heats up for the thousandth time today. "S'pose not..." He mumbles, then begins serving them their lunch.

Tim and Sasha continue rambling on about everything and nothing, while Jon and Martin remain relatively silent, though Jon found himself speaking up on occasion, either answering a question or just giving his own opinion on a topic. Martin, however, is mostly silent, and Jon can't help but notice that Martin seems a bit... _off_. Not that he would be able to tell. Between barely knowing Martin, and his usual inability to read emotion, he couldn't be sure. But he seemed off. Less cheery. These were his friends, right? Shouldn't he be talking to them?

Seeing Martin like this was off, and Jon didn't like when things were off. 

"What do you think, Martin?" Jon asks. Martin looks at him, flustered.

"Oh, uh sorry... I-I must've zoned out. What were we talking about?" Martin expects Jon to go back on even asking for his opinion, and resume the conversation without him.

"Ah, well, we were discussing whether someones personality is determined by their magic, or the other way around." Jon explains instead.

"Oh!" Martin perks up, and something about it makes Jon feel warm. _That's_ the Martin he's familiar with.

"Well, uh, I think it's a bit of both, y'know? I think we have natural skills that make us better with certain magic. But I also think we sort of mold ourselves to fit what is expected of us." Martin explains. "Does... does that make sense?" He asks.

"Yes, yes. I must agree with you on that, Martin." Jon says. "You certainly make a better argument than Tim does." Tim sticks his tongue out childishly, but Jon hardly notice. He's focused on Martin, and the impossibly wide smile creeping across his face.

The four discuss whatever comes to mind, carrying on long after lunch has been finished. It's only as Sasha checks a pocket watch, golden with twisting vines etched into it, that she mentions she and Tim should leave soon. As the two near the door to leave, Tim turns to Jon.

"Hey, when you're human again, wanna come out for drinks with us?" Tim offers, smile wide. Jon shakes his head.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'll pass. Taverns really aren't my scene." Jon explains. Tim shrugs. "Your loss." And then the two leave.

Martin let's out relieved sigh, which catches Jon's attention.

"And what's going on with you?" He asks. Martin nervously runs a hand through his fiery curls.

"Ah, just... I was a bit worried you wouldn't like them." Martin explains. Jon cocks an eyebrow.

"And why exactly would it have mattered if I didn't?" Two of Jon's arms are crossed over his chest. 

"I... I don't know? I was just worried. They'll probably be over a lot and I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable around them while you're staying here." Martin explains. "You did actually like them, right?"

Jon huffs, a tinge of humor lacing it. "They were fine." Martin let's out another sigh. "Good. That's good." He wrings his hands for a moment, not knowing what to do other than stand there awkwardly.

"Right," Martin finally says. "Well, I'm a bit behind schedule on research so... I'm gonna go do that now." He goes to walk towards his room, but turns over to Jon. He can't help thinking about he hadn't even known what type of magic Jon practiced until today. He wanted to know more about Jon. His offer comes without much consideration, only a want for companionship.

"Would you like to join me? Research can get pretty boring, and I think we both could use the company." Martin offers. Jon just blinks a few times before fluttering towards him.

"Alright, fine. But don't even think about using me as an excuse to not do any work. If anything, I'll be making sure you stay on task." Jon says as he swoops past Martin and towards his bedroom door. Martin chuckles.

"Don't worry, I'll stay on task." He promises. Jon huffs.

"Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Sasha, please return my texts.
> 
> Okay but Tim is always my favorite to write, and his relationship with Sasha is an absolute joy to come up with dialogue for. I love them both so much.
> 
> Anyway, as always, I owe my life anyone who leaves a comment. I will respond to you and I will love you forever, thank you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new shop opens, Jon reunites with an old friend, and something... odd happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs:  
> \- Magical intoxication

When Martin had started going on and on about a new potion and sigil shop opening in the village, it hadn't taken very long for Jon to ask to accompany him.

Jon needed the fresh air. He's been in the cottage for... how long has it been? The days tend to blur together, but he's almost certain it's been three weeks. The days passed a little easier now, as Jon usually kept Martin company as he did his research, occasionally pointing out flaws or finding more logical solutions than the ones Martin came up with. It wasn't exactly the ideal, but Jon willingly takes it over the alternative of lazing around all day.

Martin was hesitant to bring Jon with him though. Of course, they both agreed Jon shouldn't be seen by the public, there was no argument there. But Jon needed to get out _somehow._ It didn't really matter to him how so long as he got out of this house.

This is how Jon finds himself awkwardly positioned in the front pocket of Martin's overalls, pressed uncomfortably close to the man's chest as he tries not to damage his paper-thin wings. It's not a cozy place to stay, but Jon will still take it over having to stay in the cottage instead. On occasion, he'll peak up for a breath of fresh air when it seems Martin is far away from other people, but for the most part he's content staying put.

The scent of honeysuckle is overwhelming from where Jon has crammed himself, potent and positively dizzying. The sickly sweet scent is almost intoxicating. Jon almost wants to be annoyed by it, to shout at Martin that _whatever new cologne he's trying, he needs to wear less of it,_ but Jon finds that he quite likes the sweet, if not overbearing scent. The knowledge that the smell will linger on him when he leaves makes his stomach do something odd. He doesn't think about it too hard.

When they arrive at the shop, it seems to be mostly empty. The only other voice is that of the woman at the front counter.

"Hi! Welcome to Versatile Vials and Sigil Solutions!" She greets. Jon finds the voice to be oddly familiar.

"Oh! Hi, I'm Martin." Martin seems briskly jogs up to the counter.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Georgie, one of the owners!"

"Wait-" Jon says, crawling out of the pocket before Martin has a chance to stop him. He flutters up to Martin's shoulder, where he perches and looks up to Georgie.

"Awww, that's so cute!" Georgie coos. "And what's this little guys name?" She asks Martin, but Jon interrupts before he can answer.

"Ugh, Georgie." He groans, and _wait a minute..._ She recognizes that annoyance, and the voice to boot.

"Jon?!" She shouts, shocked. Martin somehow manages to look more confused than she does, but Jon just looks relieved.

Martin looks back and forth between the two, craning his neck a bit to look at Jon on his shoulder. "Wait, you two know each other?"

"Uh, yeah..." Jon doesn't look to thrilled.

"Don't get too excited, Jon." Georgie chuckles, the turns back to Martin. "Yes, we went to the same magic academy. And, y'know, dated for a bit."

"Oh." That's all Martin can think to say. _Oh._

Georgie turns to Martin, sighing. "Right. So how did this happen?"

"Oh, uh..." Martin looks to Jon nervously, then back to Georgie. He doesn't exactly want to admit that, in fact, he _doesn't know_ how Jon was cursed, and he was just trying whatever he could think of to heal him. That was... admittedly, unprofessional. But it felt invasive to ask Jon how he had ended up like this. He didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

Georgie takes Martin's silence as an answer.

"Wha- Jon! You didn't tell him what happened?!" Georgie shouts incredulously. Jon suddenly seems flustered.

"I... didn't think it was important." Jon says, not at all convincing.

"Jon." She says sternly. "If you want us to help you. we need to know what happened."

Martin can only think about how Georgie is _much_ bolder than he is. He's almost envious of it. Almost.

"Fine." Jon growls, though his tough demeanor quickly falls away. "I uh... may have bought a cursed broach."

"Why would you do that?" Georgie looks utterly stunned. Why _would_ he do that?

Jon sighs. "See why I didn't want to tell you? You're gonna get all..." He gestures vaguely. "You know!"

Georgie leans in, clearly invested. "Alright, explain yourself then. I need the full story. Now." Jon sighs in defeat. He can't really get out of this one, can he?

"I went to this little shop, not really looking to buy anything, just curious about what they might have. And there was this little luna moth broach. And I felt... _drawn_ to it."

"The pulling thing?" Georgie interrupts.

"Yes, that."

"What's 'the pulling thing'?" Martin asks.

"It's... this feeling I get sometimes, like I'm being dragged towards something. I uh-" Jon looks at Martin nervously. "That actually how I found your cottage. I think it's a divinator thing."

"Oh! That's... really interesting actually!" Martin looks like he wants to ask more about it, but he knows Georgie wants to hear the rest of Jon's story, so he drops it.

"Yes, well, anyway. I felt drawn to the broach. I wanted to do a reading on it first, see if it was safe. And when I did a reading on it, it felt... bad. I _knew_ I shouldn't buy it, I knew I probably shouldn't even touch it. But I dismissed it in favor of the pulling. I bought it and put it on and well... I think it's clear how that went." Jon mumbles towards the end.

"Jon, I don't mean to be rude, but are you stupid?" Georgie's tone is entirely curious, devoid of the malice one would expect from such a question.

Jon seems taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"You found a random broach, that you _knew_ had bad energy, and you bought it anyway! I'm sorry Jon, but that is monumentally stupid." She says, still not malicious, only speaking as if she were stating a fact.

"I will admit it was... perhaps not my most well thought out decision." Georgie raises an eyebrow at him.

Jon huffs. "Fine, fine, I get it. Trust me Georgie, I've had plenty of time to regret my poor decision making."

"And yet you never change." Georgie teases.

Jon tries his best to look angry, failing miserably as it's all Georgie can do not to coo at how adorable he looks when he's mad. "I've changed!" He shouts. Georgie just laughs.

"I'm sorry, but this is exactly the sort of situation you would've wound up in back during uni. I'm honestly amazed it took you this long to get cursed." 

Martin does his best not to join in on Georgie's laughter. He does, however, make silent plans to come back without Jon and ask for a few stories about Jon and his days in uni someday.

Georgie inhales deeply, taming her laughter the best she can. "Right." She plants her hands on the counter firmly. "This isn't funny. This is serious." She tells herself, but her grin is still ever present and it's taking all her self control to not let more giggles bubble up to the surface. How on earth is she supposed to keep a straight face when her ex looks like _that?_

"Okay, okay. I think I have some stuff you can try out." Georgie finally says, gathering a few vials from the vast display behind her. She rings them up and Martin pays for the three little vials of... well, he's not entirely sure _what_ they are. 

Georgie looks at the sternly. "Do _not_ take these back to back. Wait at least ten hours between each one. The first dose should be proportional to his current size, but if it works, drink the rest just to be safe." 

Martin nods, placing vials carefully into his bag. "Thank you so much." 

"No problem." She waves them goodbye as they leave, Jon unfortunately crammed back into his place in Martin's pocket. He's a tiny bit thankful of how the scent of honeysuckle makes his head spin just enough it distracts him from the awful position he's in. Everything is just hazy enough that he can't find it in him to be _too_ bothered by it.

The walk home is a blur. It's a trip that _should_ take thirty minutes, but between his lack of visual awareness and the fuzziness clouding his thoughts, it doesn't feel much longer than a few minutes. He's on the verge of dozing off when Martin nudges him with his finger, his cue to get out. 

Jon's wings falter a bit. Despite his recent improvement at flying, it still requires a level of focus that he just doesn't have with his mind as clouded as it is. He stumbles to his spot on Martin's kitchen table, practically collapsing onto the doily where he sits. Martin gives him an odd look.

"Are you feeling alright?" 

"Mm. Fine." Jon mumbles.

"Right. Well, let's uh... Try one of these, I guess." Martin pulls out the three vials. 

"Hmm... This one." Martin picks a vial filled with a thick, golden liquid with what appears to be flower petals floating around in it. It certainly looks to be the most palatable one. He pours a bit of it into the thimble, taking note of the consistency. Thicker than water, but thinner than honey. Odd.

He hands the thimble to Jon, who takes a small hesitant sip. Then, his face lights up.

_Honeysuckle nectar._

He quickly downs the rest of the fluid, then slams the thimble down on the table.

"More, please." He says, his words slurring slightly. His head is now pleasantly foggy, in a way that makes everything feel warm and soft. He quite likes it. He wants _more._

"Jon, that's not how this works. Besides," Martin corks the vial and puts it back in his bag. "I don't think that would be a good idea anyway. You seem... off. I wouldn't feel comfortable giving you any more." Jon pouts slightly, but the disappointment is quickly forgotten. He can't seem to hold onto any particular feelings or thoughts. Everything is too hazy and warm to focus.

Jon lets out a small yawn and _oh that's really cute._ Martin makes sure to store that image in his mind. 

When had Jon gotten so tired? He wasn't this tired earlier. He hadn't been tired at all. But the warm fuzziness of sleepiness was mingling with the other cloudy warmth, and a nap was sounding very appealing right about now. Without much more thought, he curls up right there, perfectly content to just fall asleep on Martin's table.

The last thing he's aware of is being gently scooped up and placed somewhere _much_ softer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter but hey! Georgie's here! I love writing her.
> 
> Also, fun fact: Moths love honeysuckle. Like a lot. Also in witchcraft, honeysuckle is traditionally used to clear the mind, but in this universe that only applies to humans. For moth fairies, it's an intoxicating delicacy that has the opposite effect than it does on humans.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin is acting odd. Jon is suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs:  
> \- Canon-Typical Jon thinking basic kindness is an attempt at murder  
> \- Paranoia 
> 
> This was supposed to be fluffy because the next chapter is gonna be heavy but instead it turned into paranoia so,,, sorry. Also this ones a bit shorter! Next one should be longer.

Martin was acting odd.

Jon wasn't sure exactly when he'd grown familiar enough with all of Martin's little habits to be able to tell when something was off, but he could tell. He supposed living with someone for over month would result in him being privy to Martin and his tendencies. And he was certainly familiar enough to tell something wasn't right.

At first, Jon had wanted to wave it off as simple awkwardness, just chalk it up as the typical bumbling behavior he was used to. Martin was, even at the best of times, quite a mess around Jon. And Jon supposed he understood why. Even he was well aware that he was perhaps a little too hard on Martin. But clearly someone had to be, right?

But this was different. Martin's awkwardness was always full of shy smiles and nervous laughter and red cheeks. This isn't that.

This is odd glances, followed by a quick turning away once Jon returns the glance with a look of equal parts suspicion and annoyance. It's long, awkward silences filled with nothing but Martin completing some menial task and trying to hide the way he keeps looking at Jon, without much success. It's Martin spending more and more time alone.

It's not Martin.

So, rightfully so, Jon was starting to get suspicious.

Well, it had started as suspicion. He'd much preferred when it was just suspicion. Suspicion was an entirely logical response to someone acting a bit off.

It was a few days into Martin's odd behavior that Jon realized he was perhaps beyond simple suspicion. The odd thing was, Martin had been acting completely normal in that moment. He had just finished preparing dinner and had served it to Jon, alongside his usual thimble of tea that Jon couldn't recognize from the scent alone. Martin always gave him different tea each time, presumably to try to find Jon's favorite. Jon always took a sip of tea before beginning a meal.

So why did he hesitate?

_What if it's poisoned? No, it would be too hard to hide the taste of poison with tea. Don't be ridiculous, he's an apothecary, he would know exactly which plants to add to the brew and they could be virtually flavorless. He could've easily poisoned it. I saw him make the food, that's safe. But I don't know what's in the tea. I'm being paranoid, he wouldn't have done that, he's drinking the exact same tea as I am. But I'm much smaller, it wouldn't take nearly as much to kill me. At worst, he'd just get sick. It's poisoned. He's trying to kill me. He's going to kill me, he's going to kill me, he's going-_

Martin was staring again, but it wasn't the odd look he'd been giving Jon so often recently. Just his typical concern.

_He's faking concern, he wants you to drink it. He wants to kill you. He wants to-_

Jon pushes the thoughts away the best he can and begins eating. He finishes the meal without a single sip of tea. He tries to push down the guilt that rises in his stomach at the sad look Martin gives him as he grabs the still-full thimble and empties it. _He's not actually upset. He's manipulating you. He's only annoyed that his plan didn't work._

So, suspicion is the wrong word. Full-blown paranoia is more accurate.

Jon can't even find it in him to be surprised. Martin's progress on finding a cure had been slow, having found hardly any useful information. And after a month, surely he's tired of spending all his spare time trying to find a cure while Jon flutters about and constantly berates him. Martin was trying to _help him_ and Jon had hardly shown his gratitude for it. So an attempt at getting rid of Jon seemed like a logical step , really.

Jon doesn't drink the tea Martin gives him for the next few days. Each tea smells different, but of course they do. It'd be illogical to try the same poison each time, of course Jon would catch on to that. He never drinks any of them. He ignores the way Martin looks at him. He pretends he doesn't care. He pretend Martin's hurt looks don't dig into him like a knife. They _don't._ He has no reason to be concerned about the feelings of a man who is _obviously_ trying to kill him.

So why, then, did he feel an odd pang in his chest when Martin gave him only water at dinner the next night?

_It's harder to poison. It should be safe. But maybe he's trying to throw me off. He knows I'm suspicious of him and thinks this will trick me._

"Jon, I-I know you don't like my tea, but could you please at least drink some water?" Martin pleads. It sounds genuine, like he's actually concerned for Jon.

_I'll take a sip. That should appease him. If there's anything wrong with it, one sip won't hurt._

He takes a small sip. It tastes normal. Martin still looks concerned, with something else creeping into his features alongside it. Disappointment, maybe? Whatever it is, he doesn't say another word about it. They remain silent until they've both finished their meals and Martin has begun cleaning their (well, mostly his) dishes.

"I, uh, have something for you. I just have to go get it real quick." Martin looks more nervous than Jon thinks he ever has. He quickly steps out of the room, before peaking back through the doorway.

"Oh! Uh, just close your eyes, okay?" He adds.

_Right, so this is it. Not how he wanted to go out, but what could he do?_

Jon complies and shuts his eyes so tight he sees white. Might as well do what Martin wants, it'll be easier that way. Maybe Martin will be merciful and at least kill him quickly if he's cooperative.

"Okay, open your eyes."

_Oh. Martin was going to make him watch._

He had been hoping Martin would at least do it while his eyes were closed. The dread was already eating at him, but it would've been a little more bearable to not watch as the knife closed in on him.

Jon pries his eyes open and looks up at Martin, pushing down the wave of nausea that comes with the dread trying to creep up his throat.

"Tada!" Martin holds up the surprise, which is... definitely not a weapon of any sort.

Instead, Martin holds a tiny, four-armed sweater, clearly hand knit in a familiar pastel blue.

Martin... made him a sweater?

"Oh." Is all Jon can think to say, the shock of his life _not_ being in danger still sinking in. Martin's face falls.

"It's... um, it's okay if you don't like it. But you seemed to really like my cardigan so I wanted to make something for you with the same yarn." Martin tries his best not to let his voice waver. He had spent a frankly ridiculous amount of time on something so small and the thought that Jon might not like it hurt more than he'd like to admit.

"No, no, I like it! It's just..." Jon can't think of a good way to finish that thought. Instead, he just raises his arms, waiting for Martin to hand the small garment to him.

Martin does his best to bite back a smile when Jon reaches out for the sweater, his tiny arms waving slightly as he waits for Martin to hand it to him. He doesn't want Jon to think he's, how had he worded it, seen as some helpless animal. It's not that. Jon isn't cute because he's some tiny, defenseless creature. Jon's just cute, not that Martin would ever admit it.

He hands the sweater to Jon, who promptly pulls it over his head. The back it cut just low enough that his wings can peak through without being crumpled. Martin was right, it was roomy, but comfortably so. The sleeves hang past each of his hands just a bit. It was... perfect.

Martin can't hold back his smile this time. The sight of Jon in the sweater _he made_ is just too much to handle.

"I... Thank you Martin. It's a very lovely jumper."

Martin's smile somehow grows wider. 

"I'm glad. And, uh, I'm sorry for acting so weird lately. It's just... I wanted it to be a surprise, and of course that meant I couldn't get you to model for me. So I sort of just had to guess on everything. I tried to make it a little roomy, since big jumpers are always extra comfy. I, uh..." Martin wrings his hands together. "I hope I didn't worry you too much. From, y'know, staring at you so much and being weird and... yeah. I'll just ask you to model for me next time.?"

"Ah, it's quite alright." Jon lies. He decides it's probably best he doesn't reveal his paranoia to Martin. 

Gosh, how was he _that_ daft? How could he have possibly thought that sweet, caring, gentle Martin wanted to kill him? Martin, who was trying to cure him. Who gave him somewhere to stay. Who made him a different tea everyday because he was determined to find one Jon actually liked. Who let Jon stay with him while he works, because even if Jon doesn't show it, he needs the company. Who had been acting weird all week because he wanted to surprise Jon with something nice. 

Martin, who no matter what, Jon was going to trust from now on. He owes him that at the very least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I cannot write a TMA fic without having someone make Jon a sweater. I guess this is my thing now.
> 
> Sorry if updates slow down a bit, I have a few other things I'm working on right now. Either way, hope everyone enjoyed this :]


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin isn't doing well. Jon tries to help and learns a few new things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs:  
> \- Slight panic attack (mostly off screen but it still happens)  
> \- Vague discussions of past trauma

Martin was very much not okay.

Jon has never been good at reading facial expressions. He could never really gauge how people felt, a shortcoming that often got him into trouble back when he actually used to socialize regularly or had customers to worry about. He could read the entire history of an object just from a single touch, but people? People are different. People are messy and complicated and oh so _difficult_. It seemed like everyone else could read social cues so much better than he could. But even despite this, he could tell Martin was not okay. 

He's not entirety sure how long he's been working, but he's certain it's been long enough to warrant a break or three. But Martin is surprisingly stubborn when he wants to be, a trait that annoys Jon endlessly if only because it's one they share. Despite his suggestions that he should take a break, Martin has waved him off nearly a dozen times now, and Jon has decided his efforts shall remain fruitless.

They've been silent for a while now. The only sound in the room is the gentle swiping of pages and scribbling of pencil on paper. It's too loud in the otherwise silent room usually filled with Martin thinking out loud and Jon making corrections and the occasional joke from Martin, where Jon will chuckle despite himself and Martin's face warms up to the point he thinks he might faint whenever he hears the sound.

Jon feels silly for missing that. It's not like it's been days since they've been like that. Martin's just having an off day. An off day where he looks like he may break down at any moment.

As if on cue, Jon notices a single tear streaming down Martin's cheek.

"Martin?" Jon steps near him cautiously, as if even his small presence may startle him in this state.

"I-" Martin swipes away the tear. "I need a moment." He stands up quickly, pushing his chair out of the way and rushing out of the room, though despite his quick exit remembers to leave the door open a crack as he is prone to do these days so as to allow Jon to freely travel the house. 

Jon doesn't want to disturb him. If Martin needs a moment alone, Jon sees no reason he should disrupt him. But still, he worries. When had he started doing that? Martin is aggressively saccharine and awkward and hardly competent at his job, the type of person Jon would usually despise, and yet he _worries._

It's after nearly ten minutes have passed that Jon decides that, maybe, a bit of disruption is what Martin needs. He flutters out of the room and quickly finds Martin in the kitchen, sat at the table with a cup of tea.

He doesn't look well. It's different from before. No longer is he wound up, ready to break at any moment. He's already broken. Sullen and empty, trying to fill the void with tea in hopes that maybe it'll make him feel better. It doesn't seem to be working.

Jon might not be very good at reading emotions, but he can certainly read the meaning of red eyes shielded by heavy eyelids and unwashed tear tracks cementing their place onto ruddy cheeks and small sniffles that sound far louder than they should in the quiet cottage. 

Jon approaches slowly, leaving Martin every opportunity to shoo him away if he so pleases. He doesn't.

When Jon settles on the table, he isn't quite sure where to go from there. His difficulty with emotions goes deeper than his inability to read them. Ignoring his trouble understanding his own emotions, he also has no clue how to react even when he does know how others feel. And while he certainly does know how Martin feels, he doesn't know what to do about it.

"Martin?" He says cautiously, hoping maybe he can pull out a reaction thay could give him something to work with. Martin hums in acknowledgement, hardly the most helpful response, but Jon can't blame him for that.

"Do you... want to talk about whatevers happening? It, uh, might help?" Jon manages awkwardly. That was good, right? Make sure Martin knows he _can_ talk, but he doesn't have to. Yes, that was good, Jon was sure of it.

Martin sniffles a bit. "I just, ah..." He scrubs at his cheek as a new tear streams down. Just trying to talk about his feelings had a tendency to send back into a spiral of emotions, but he had to hold it back. At least enough to explain things to Jon. He owes him that at least.

"I've just... been reminded of some bad memories lately, is all." It's all he can offer as an explanation. It wouldn't be fair to drop everything on Jon all at once. And besides, he's not sure he really wants to talk about it.

"Oh. Do you... want to talk about what you were reminded of?" Jon steps closer, cautiously, though he knows his caution is unnecessary.

"Let's just say I have a... bad history with live-in patients." Martin glances off at nothing in particular.

"Oh." Jon says simply. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You're... you're not like her. I guess it's just a bit familiar, having to take care of someone who's relying on me. Bad familiar." He laughs, a weak and watery chuckle. "It's a lot of pressure to put on a person. N-not that it's you're fault!" He sighs, wringing his hands nervously. "I just haven't had this level of responsibility in a few years. It's not the same as just having someone come in and buy something. It's... a lot. And I guess I haven't exactly..." Martin trails off.

"Been taking time for yourself?" Jon offers. Martin nods. Jon sighs, not exasperated or annoyed, just sympathetic and a little tired. "I've noticed." He says.

This gets an odd response out of Martin. His eyes go a bit wide, staring at Jon with... confusion? Embarrassment? He wishes he could tell.

Jon decides to offer an explanation in hopes that maybe, just maybe, Martin will give him a response he can decipher. "I mean, you don't exactly take many breaks. And between your job and researching, I don't think I've seen you do anything for fun unless Tim forcibly drags you out for drinks."

Martin hums noncommittally. "I'm not usually like this, I swear. I mean, when I used to work with Tim and Sasha, I used to have to convince Sasha to actually leave on time instead of staying late." He laughs a bit, the way one would when they think about an inside joke. A small laugh that doesn't want to call attention to itself. "But I think Tim has sort of rubbed off on her and now she's just as eager to leave as he is, from what I've heard. Uh, the point is... I understand the importance between a work-life balance. It's just hard for me in a situation like this. Guess I never really learned how to relax when I'm under pressure."

Jon hums to himself, thinking for a moment.

"Martin, I instruct you to spend _at least_ the next two hours doing something to relax."

Martin looks at him incredulously, then a smile splits across his face and he's giggling wildly.

"You instruct me?" He manages to get out. Jon feels his face heating up.

"Er, yes." He sounds less confident than he would've liked.

Martin manages to push himself up from his chair despite the giggles spilling out of him. "Alright, alright. Yes sir." He glances down at Jon and his expression shifts, jubilation replaced by an inquisitive head tilt. Jon is equally confused.

"What?" 

"It's uh, just," Martin motions at his cheeks to signify that Jon should look at his own. Jon catches his reflection in a glass sitting on the table and... huh.

The small, eye-like markings on his cheeks are glowing a faint, unnatural green. He remembers reading something about how the fae blush and he curses silently at his own embarrassment being on display so easily now.

"Ah." Is all he says. Martin takes that to mean Jon has no intention to talk about it and doesn't linger.

Martin heads back into his room and quickly returns with a pen and notebook. Jon notes it isn't a notebook he's seen before, which he's grateful for as all the ones he has seen have been strictly for work purposes. As Martin settles back into his spot at the table, Jon suddenly feels an awkwardness he hasn't felt around Martin in quite a few weeks.

"Um, if you'd rather I go somewhere else I'd understand. This should be time for you, after all." Jon fears the glowing of his cheeks may not be fading anytime soon at this rate. Martin just smiles fondly. 

"No, stay. I..." It's Martin's turn to blush. "I like having you around. Honestly, if it hadn't been for you, I probably would've had a breakdown much sooner."

"If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be so stressed in the first place." Jon points out.

"This is _not_ your fault." Martin says firmly, and Jon can't find it in him to argue. It's not that he agrees, but well... 

It's a complicated situation, he decides. That's why he doesn't argue.

He watches as Martin flips through pages and pages of the notebook, each covered in scrawlings that pass in a blur too quickly to read even a single word. Finally, he settles on a blank page, only to sit in silence. Jon doesn't comment. This is Martin's time to relax, and even if it goes against his nature, Jon was not going to nitpick anything.

When Martin does start to write, Jon doesn't watch. He doesn't want Martin to feel like he's being graded. So Jon sits and listens to the gentle scratching of Martin's pen on the paper. Once, he glances over, and he doesn't need his powers to know what Martin is writing.

He isn't sure why, but Jon gets an odd feeling in his chest when he sees Martin is writing poetry. He doesn't look long enough to take in any actual meaning, just enough to see the obvious format of a few stanzas.

Surely he's been here long enough to know something as trivial about Martin as him writing poetry. But the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he doesn't really know anything about Martin. Not really.

Still, there's something odd about learning something new about Martin that makes Jon chuckle slightly. Martin glances up at him, a meager smile making it's known.

"What?" Is all he says.

Jon gives him a fond smile. "You're a poet." He says, like it isn't incredibly obvious in that moment. It _hadn't_ been obvious until this moment, not to him.

"I like to think so, yes." Martin sets his pen down, interested to see where Jon is going with this train of thought.

"For some reason I don't find that very surprising."

"Oh?"

Jon realizes he doesn't really know where he's going with this. "I've never really liked poetry." He says, trying his best to not sound too judgemental.

"Y'know, for some reason I don't find that very surprising." Martin teases.

"Alright, fair enough."

"You know," Martin picks up his pen and twirls it around absentmindedly. "I've found that most people who don't like poetry actually just don't understand it."

Jon scoffs, though his smile is still present. "That wouldn't be a problem if it wasn't so pretentious."

"That's not fair. I mean sure, some of it can be a bit over the top, but even that has its merit. It's not fair to label all poetry as pretentious." 

Jon hums noncommittally. They sit in silence for a moment before Jon speaks up again.

"Maybe you could read me some of your poetry sometime."

"Wha-? You just said you don't like poetry!" Martin looks utterly confused. No matter how much time he spends with Jon, he can never truly get a grasp on him.

"Maybe you could change my mind." Jon says simply. Martin's face heats up at the idea of reading his poetry to Jon, but he's not sure he completely dislikes the idea.

"I'll think about it." He says. Jon smiles fondly, and somewhere I'm the back of his mind, he silently hopes Martin will want to share his poetry with him someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter actually ended up fluffier than originally planned,,, and it still hurts a bit :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin reunites with some old friends, and maybe finds some answers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs:  
> \- Vague discussions of death

When Martin had heard that there was someone who might be able to help him at a small bakery he'd never actually visited, he had no choice but to give it a visit.

He's not sure why he's never visited this particular bakery. He's sort of made a habit out visiting shops when they first open, and he's certain the bakery hadn't been there a year ago. He gives the small shop a sweeping glance. It's quaint, a cozy little shop, with soft beige walls and warm lighting. He steps inside, bracing himself for whatever he's just gotten himself into.

"Oh. Morning, Martin." The woman at the front counter greets, and Martin has to freeze when he sees her.

"Wait- Basira? You work here? Since when?"

"I own the place. Figured a bakery was about as far as I could get from... Well, you know." She smiles fondly. "This place, it's... It's been good for me."

Martin smiles in return, but quickly returns to a slight grimace. "So then I take it that the hex specialist I was told I could find here is..."

"Yeah." Basira nods, not needing Martin to finish his sentence. "She's gotten a lot better though. She helps out in the bakery and... I think it calms her down." Basira sighs. "She's still set on helping people though."

"And is she?" Martin asks before he can really think about it.

Basira lets out a small, humorless chuckle. "I hope so. But we never were very good judges of that, were we?"

"S'pose not." Martin mumbles. "Uh, anyway. I need her help with something."

Basira motions towards a door behind her. "Right through here. I'm sure she'll be happy to see you. Just like old times, right?" She smirks.

"Uh," Martin looks at the door nervously. "In 'old times' I always talked to you because _she_ scares me." This gets another chuckle out of Basira.

"You'll be fine." She reassures, and he tries his best to believe her.

On the other side of the door is a small hallway. On one side, the kitchen is in plain view. Three employees seem to be working away diligently, not even seeming to notice Martin. Across from that is a black door. He takes a deep breath and pushes it open.

"Oh. It's you."

"Good to see you too, Daisy." Martin takes in the room. It's dark, strongly contrasting the rest of the bright bakery. The floor is a dark oak wood, surprisingly shiny and lacking scuff marks of any kind. The walls are a slightly lighter wood paneling. Lining the walls are shelves packed with books and jars. In the center, where Daisy sits, is a black desk covered things Martin can't (and frankly, doesn't want to) identify.

"I, uh-" Martin starts, stumbling over his words.

"You need my help." Daisy finishes, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It probably is. Martin nods sharply. Daisy stands up quickly.

"Right. Give me the details. And _only_ the important ones. I remember how you are when it comes to rambling." She stares him down, and Martin tries to keep his cool. Didn't Basira say she had calmed down?

"R-right. Um... Client was cursed by a broach, now in the form of a moth, basic healing is ineffective, curse seems mostly harmless other than the transfiguration." Martin replies quickly, remembering exactly how Daisy likes her information stated. Daisy thinks for a moment then goes over to one of the shelves covered in books. "Physical problem caused by a physical item needs a physical solution." She mumbles to herself. She plucks a book from it's spot and quickly rifles through the pages. Then, as she pauses on one, she quickly steps back over to the desk and slams the book down, page in question facing Martin.

"This should do it." She says simply. Martin scans the page, not really reading anything, but noting thay it seems to be for an amulet of some sort.

"Thank you. Um, how much will this cost?" Martin remembers just how pricey Daisy's services can be, but he's prepared to pay whatever she asks of him. But she just shakes her head.

"Nothing." She says simply.

"W-what?" 

"Nothing." She repeats, then points to a section on the page. "I can't do the spell."

Martin leans in and reads where Daisy is pointing.

_An emotional connection to the curse victim is key to this spells success._

"I don't know your client. Therefore," She crosses her arms over her chest. "I can't do the spell."

"Right. Can I- Would it be okay if I borrowed this? I... I think I might be able to do it." 

Daisy nods. "Sure." She bookmarks the page and hands it to Martin. "Good luck." She adds.

"Thank you. And uh," He places the book under his arm. "If I can ever do anything to help, just let me know. Y'know... Like old times." Martin wears a sad smile. Daisy just shakes her head.

"No, Martin. I'm not getting you roped back into this. I know how much you hated it. I-" She sighs. "You're a good person, Martin. And I'm done hurting good people. So... I don't want your help. Not like that, at least. Not like old times."

Martin stares at for a moment, then nods slowly. "Well then, I just... Thank you. For everything. And uh..." He smiles. "I'm glad you're doing better."

Daisy returns the smile, a rare sight, though maybe not as rare as it used to be. "Me too." And with that, Martin leaves.

"See? Still in one piece. Told you you'd be fine." Basira jokes as soon as she gets a look at Martin. Martin laughs, much more relaxed than he had been going in.

"So, got everything you need then?" Basira asks. Martin nods and hold up the book he had tucked beneath his arm. 

"Oh." Basira says plainly. "Not one she can do?" Martin shakes head. "Unfortunately not. But I think I can handle it."

"I'm sure. So I take it you have a client?" Martin nods. "Been trying to heal him for a bit now but nothings worked so..." Martin gestures vaguely.

"When's the last time you even had an actual client? I know we haven't talked in a while but I know you stopped taking in house clients for a while because-"

"Mum. Yeah, she was the last one." Martin places the book back under his arm, not really sure what else to do.

"Oh. Did she-?" Basira doesn't finish the question. She doesn't need to.

"Yeah." Martin responds.

"I'm sorry." Basira offers, and it's the most sincere he thinks he's ever heard her sound.

"It's okay. It was... It wasn't really a surprise or anything." He goes silent, starting at the floor tiles and trying to push away the bitterness creeping up his throat. He really doesn't want to talk about this, not anymore. "Um, anyway. I should get going." Martin points towards the exit behind him.

"Good luck. And don't be a stranger." She waves him off as he goes to leave.

"I won't." He calls, and that's a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said updates would be slower, and then proceeded to upload like three chapters in a week? Yeah, I don't know either. But I hope everyone is enjoying this! As always, comments are beloved and if you leave one I will owe you my life.


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